


heard it through the grapevine

by aghamora



Series: Flaurel Ficlets [29]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 00:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5561581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aghamora/pseuds/aghamora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He guesses he should’ve known listening to Laurel discuss the intimate details of their sex life wouldn’t be all fun and games. He’s starting to think this might backfire in his face, actually."</p><p>Laurel has a tendency to brag about her and Frank's sex life. This time, Frank overhears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heard it through the grapevine

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: 'Laurel tends to humblebrag/subtle brag about her and Frank's sex life.'

The rat pack is day drinking again.

The distant sound of laughter in the living room makes it obvious; no one ever really laughs freely in this place, and especially not while at work – unless they have a death wish, or they’re hammered. Frank has no idea how they get away with it, honestly. If he ever dipped into Annalise’s bar while on the clock, she’d have his head faster than he could come up with an excuse. 

But apparently they’ve adopted the mentality that while the boss is away, the kids will play, and he’s not about to bother spending the time or energy yelling at them for it. He’ll let that be Bonnie’s job – even though the five of them, excluding Laurel, become even less tolerable when they’ve been boozing.

Prom Queen gets giggly. Doucheface gets even… douchier, for lack of a better word. The Puppy becomes introverted and somber, and Hair Gel stays relatively the same – but he’s annoying as hell when he’s sober too, so Frank doesn’t really count that one.

And Laurel? Laurel overshares – a lot – and gets a bit handsy. The latter Frank, admittedly, finds kind of cute. The former? He could do without. Especially right this moment, when their muffled conversation meets his ears, and he pauses in the hallway to listen.

“All right, Miss Humblebrag. It’s not like you don’t already make it clear all the time how _amazing_ your and Frank’s sex life is.”

He freezes. It’s Hair Gel’s voice, derisive and a bit slurred. He has half a mind to walk in there and clobber the kid, but then-

Laurel scoffs, stopping him in his tracks. “Excuse me? What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

It’s Prom Queen he hears next.

“Please. You make offhand comments about your guys’ sex life all the time. Like the other day, when you got here in the morning, yawned, and when I asked if you’d had a hard night, you said – and I quote,” she raises her voice to a high-pitched tone that doesn’t sound much like Laurel at all, “’Uh, yeah, but it was a  _good_ hard night.’”

Frank almost chuckles. She’d actually said that?

“I do not!” Laurel protests. “I don’t brag that much.”

“You kind of do,” Doucheface chimes in. “Like, a lot a lot.”

A pause. Then, Laurel asks, “Do I really?”

“All the time,” Hair Gel says. “So. Spill. If it’s so great, we want all the filthy, depraved details. Frank’s got a huge dick, right? I mean, he totally looks like he would.”

Okay, so he should definitely stop this conversation now; hearing Hair Gel talk about the size of his dick is the stuff of his nightmares, but if he’s being honest, he kind of wants to know what Laurel is going to say. Not that he’s insecure, because frankly, he knows he has nothing to be insecure _about_ , but… Still. It’s a healthy curiosity.

“Oh, yeah,” Laurel says without hesitation. “Yup.”

He may or may not give himself a mental high five at that. Well, eavesdropping on a tipsy Laurel is proving to be far more enlightening than he’d originally anticipated.

That piques Doucheface’s interest. “Like above average?”

“ _Way_ above average.”

“So, long?” Doucheface presses. “Or, y’know, thick? Not that I want to know about Frank’s dick, or anything, I’m just, uh… comparing. For – science reasons.”

Hair Gel scoffs. “Suuure.”

Laurel pauses, probably to take a sip of whatever alcoholic beverage she’s pilfered from Annalise’s liquor cabinet. “Both. Big time. It kind of hurt, at first, but once you get used to it… _Wow_. And that’s all I’ll say about that.”

The Puppy finally speaks up, inexplicably mournful in his intoxication. “We shouldn’t be having this conversation at work.”

“I’m jealous,” Prom Queen admits. “Aiden had a total pencil dick. It was _so_ not satisfying.”

“I, personally, disagree. But whatever. So,” Hair Gel continues. “We’ve established that Frank is hung. What about stamina-wise? You can have a ten foot penis, but it isn’t worth shit if you can only go one or two rounds.”

“Mmm,” Laurel hums, her voice a low, suggestive drawl. “Let’s just say you could call him an… Italian stallion.”

Jesus fucking Christ, this is a simultaneous ego boost and major turn-on. Still, at that, he almost snorts.  _Italian stallion._ He’ll give her an A plus for creativity with that one.

“How often?” Prom Queen asks, apparently unable to contain her curiosity under the influence.

“Every day,” is Laurel’s simple answer.

“More than once a day?” Doucheface inquires.

“Yeah.”

“Dude, like how much?”

“Uh, I don’t know… Four, five times? Sometimes more?”

“God,” Doucheface remarks. “You two are, like, actual sex addicts. What, are you just constantly fucking, all the time? How do you even have time to eat?”

More or less, Frank thinks, but remains silent,

“Wait,” the Puppy breaks in. “Have you ever done it at the office?”

Laurel gives a sound that’s half-laugh, half-scoff. “’Course.”

“Have you ever done it… on this couch? Like, where I’m sitting?”

A pause. Then:

“Yeah, actually.”

There’s a sound of sudden rustling; the Puppy springing up from his seat on the couch and darting across the room in disgust, probably. Frank can’t say he blames him.

Doucheface’s voice is next. “Have you ever screwed in this chair?”

Another, longer pause. Frank doesn’t know which chair he’s talking about, but it doesn’t really matter; they’ve done it on all of them at least once.

“Uh… yes. Sorry,” Laurel confesses, not at all sounding repentant.

“Aw, dude, gross!” Doucheface exclaims. “Is there _anywhere_ you two haven’t boinked in this place? Like, can I even sit down?”

Hair Gel finally speaks up, having remained silent for a surprisingly long time. “As thrilling as it is to find out exactly where you two have fornicated, back to the interesting stuff. What’s Frank into anyway? Weird kinks? Fetishes?”

Oh – fuck. Okay, _this_ he hopes Laurel has the good sense to keep to herself. The last thing he needs is that kind of shit hanging over his head at work.

Luckily, she does. “No comment.”

“C’mon,” Hair Gel presses. “BDSM? He a dom? Or – no, let me guess. A total sub. He like you to tie him up and sit on his face?”

Laurel takes an audible sip of her drink. “Mmm. I’m not at liberty to divulge that information.”

“Well, if it’s not that then what is it? Feet? Spanking?”

“Feet? No way,” Laurel tells him. “And, on the second one… I’m not going to confirm or deny.”

“I knew it,” Hair Gel affirms, sounding satisfied. “He like you to call him daddy too? If so, I wouldn’t blame you. He _is_ a total daddy. Hell, _I_ would call him daddy.”

Fucking _hell_. Hair Gel is one annoyingly perceptive little shit, and Frank freezes immediately, the grin falling from his face. He guesses he should’ve known listening to Laurel discuss the intimate details of their sex life wouldn’t be all fun and games. He’s starting to think this might backfire in his face, actually.

“Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t,” Laurel finally reveals. “Guess you’ll never know.”

“So he does. I mean, you would’ve denied it otherwise.”

“Levi was into that too,” Prom Queen confesses. “He was always trying to get me to say ‘Spank me, daddy’ over the phone in public places.”

“And – what? You like that kinky stuff or not?”

“Honestly? Yeah,” Prom Queen says. “It was… kind of a huge turn-on. A little messed up, but still. A turn-on.”

“I know what you mean,” Laurel agrees.

“Jesus,” Doucheface comments. “You two have _major_ daddy issues, yo.”

That draws a laugh from Laurel. “I’ll drink to that.”

Frank hears the brief, metallic sound of what must be two beer cans clanking together in a toast; Laurel and Michaela’s, he can only assume.

“Well, I think we’ve exhausted that treasure trove of information,” Hair Gel finally says. “Though that was  _definitely_ interesting. I’ll be keeping some of that stuff in mind. Now – I would say we go on to Michaela next, but I don’t think she’d have a whole lot to tell us, what with the whole minimal-orgasm-experience thing. So, Waitlist? What kind of kinky stuff was Rebecca into? Give it up. Hardcore bondage, is my guess.”

It’s there that Frank stops listening. He’s heard way more than enough for today. 

 

–

 

He waits until they get back to his place after work to bring it up.

He’s not mad, really. He wishes she hadn’t shared some things, sure, but what’s done is done, and there’s no point being pissed. He finds it more amusing than anything else, and it’s with that in mind that he turns to hang up his coat on the coatrack by the door, chuckling lowly as Laurel steps inside behind him.

“So,” he says. “Italian stallion? Really?”

She blinks, looking a bit like a deer in headlights, before lowering her eyes and grinning. “Oh, so… You heard that?”

“Y’know, there are some things…” he drifts off, approaching her, “I’d really prefer the rest of the kiddies didn’t know about me. Though, I must say, I appreciated you saying I’m ‘way above average.’”

Laurel scoffs, slipping off her coat and hanging it up. “I never should’ve told them that. You _so_ do not need anyone inflating your ego any more than it already is.”

“I caught Walsh starin’ at my crotch like five times after you said that. It was getting creepy.”

“Well, then I’ll tell him to keep his eyes off,” she laughs softly, as she strolls over and loops her arms around the back of his neck. “Because _that_ is for my eyes only.”

He furrows his brow, unamused. “The daddy thing though? You told ‘em that?”

“He guessed it!” Laurel shrugs, then sighs. “You know I tend to overshare when I’m tipsy. And please, do not pretend to be a prude. Besides, there’re some things I didn’t tell them. Things… I’ll never tell them.”

He leans in closer, intrigued. “Yeah?”

“Mmm hmm,” she hums, tilting her head to one side, before giving him a coy little grin and reaching down to slide her fingers across the smooth leather of his belt. “And… I could tell you, or, I could show you.”

He reaches back, grabbing a handful of her hair and crushing their mouths together so hard that she squeaks in surprise. Frank pulls away just as quickly, however, and eyes her with a wolfish grin.

“Show me.”

Laurel doesn’t need any further encouragement, apparently. Within seconds, she’s attacked his lips with hers again and undone the buttons on his vest in what must be record time. 

She has it off in seconds, along with his shirt; she strips him quickly, with sharp, determined, almost downright aggressive movements. It takes him a little by surprise, but it’s pleasant surprise, and when her hands go for his belt to undo that too, he chuckles.

“Just for your information, though,” Frank teases, as she urges him back down the hall to the bedroom, “if any one of those little assholes start calling me ‘daddy’ at work, that word is gonna stop being sexy real quick.”

Laurel just shuts him up with another kiss, and tugs him into the bedroom.

 

–

 

As soon as he steps inside the office the next afternoon, Frank can sense something is amiss.

At first, he ignores the rat pack’s fleeting glances and hushed conversations, knowing full well they’re probably about him but not giving a damn. He manages to carry on with his day as usual – until Annalise hands him a stack of case files in her office and tells him to distribute them to the kids. So he does just that, giving them his usual spiel about discrediting the prosecution’s expert witness, before realizing, suddenly, that they’re all staring at him far too intently.

Laurel is out getting them lunch, but Hair Gel and Prom Queen keep flicking their eyes down between his legs and looking away just as quickly – and so is Doucheface. Christ, even the _Puppy_ is trying to look at his junk, and that is finally enough to make him snap.

So he folds his arms, assuming the most menacing pose he can muster. “You all got somethin’ you wanna say to me?”

Everyone has the good sense to shake their heads meekly – except Hair Gel, who just shrugs with a cocky glint in his eyes and says, “No, we’re good, Frank. Or should I call you the… Italian stallion?”

“You call me anything other than Frank, Walsh,” he deadpans, “and I break your face. Capiche?”

“Oh, all right,” the kid replies, unflappable as ever. “Though I have to say, I _do_ like it when you’re rough, daddy.”

Frank doesn’t answer. He just rolls his eyes as hard as physically possible and walks away.

Jesus Christ. He’s going to kill Laurel the next time he sees her.


End file.
